


Fireflies.

by doctorkaitlyn



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 12:02:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3691545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Aaron says.  Both of them step closer,  into the slight glow thrown by the light over the front door.      </p>
<p>“S’fine,” Daryl says.  He flicks his hair out of his eyes and leans against the railing, heart slowing to a more normal pace.  “Just didn’t think anyone else was awake.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireflies.

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally meant to be completed for multiamory march but unfortunately, schoolwork ended up taking over my life. I hope you lovely readers enjoy!

Alexandria has been quiet for several hours now. 

As soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, people started heading inside. Now, it’s late, nearly going on midnight, if Daryl’s internal clock is anything to go by. The street’s almost entirely dark and quiet. The clear sky above is speckled with stars and there are fireflies dancing in the yard of the vacant house across the street. It should be a peaceful night but Daryl’s shoulders are rigid. His back is pressed against one of the posts holding up the roof over the porch. He’s carefully balanced on the railing, crossbow within easy reach, twiddling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. 

They’ve been within the walls of the safe zone for nearly a week now but Daryl still finds the silence unnerving. He keeps waiting for a twig to snap, for a growl to sneak up behind him, for a gunshot to explode through the air. Hell, even a door slamming would be nice. 

But no. While the days are loud, filled with people chatting and barbecuing, the nights just seem to be getting quieter and quieter, more oppressive. It makes Daryl’s skin crawl. It feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. He knows it’s a feeling that the other residents haven’t felt for a long time; hell, he's sure that some of them have _never_ felt it. They don’t understand what it feels like to be strung tight as a tripwire, 24/7, never being able to escape the feeling of impending dread. 

The walls, the massive slabs of rusted metal that Reg put up, they don’t help that feeling. Daryl hasn’t felt safe behind walls since the prison. Those walls were flimsier, true, easier for walkers (or a tank) to break through, but at the very least, all it had taken was one glance to know what they were still up against. Signs and reminders of all the shit that had gone down lingered inside the prison, visible in every scratch embedded in the concrete or every whiff of decay drifting down a corridor. Outside, there had always been walkers at the chain-link fences. It was a constant reminder; even when they started keeping piglets and growing crops, the constant sound of growls and fleshless fingers clawing at metal kept them from being too complacent. 

But these people, the ones safely hidden in their clean houses, behind opaque walls? They’re the very definition of complacent. And one day, the walls they so depend on are going to fall. It could be sooner, it could be later but either way, Daryl doesn’t plan on being around when it happens. 

“Hey, Daryl.” 

Daryl yanks his knife from the sheath on his hip as his boots hit the worn planks of the porch. His heart is already racing, but it only takes a few seconds of squinting into the dark to realize that the owner of the voice isn't a threat. 

“Hey,” he grunts in return, putting the knife away. He can’t exactly make out the faces of the two men standing on the sidewalk in front of the house, but he can see the arm that Aaron has slung around Eric’s waist. There’s what looks like a slightly gnarled, maybe hand-carved cane in Eric’s hand.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Aaron says. Both of them step closer, into the slight glow thrown by the light over the front door. 

“S’fine,” Daryl says. He flicks his hair out of his eyes and leans against the railing, heart slowing to a more normal pace. “Just didn’t think anyone else was awake.” 

“We’re usually up this late,” Eric says, looking up at the sky. “I like looking at the stars. Besides, the quiet is nice.” 

“Less people to force conversation with,” Aaron adds. He’s smiling, but the look doesn’t reach his eyes. Daryl understands, although he’s pretty sure that their respective reasons for not wanting to deal with the community are quite different. At least, they're different on the surface. 

But that’s not something he wants to talk to a near-stranger about. 

“How’s the ankle?” he asks instead.

“Getting there,” Eric answers with a shrug, sticking his foot out and giving it an experimental roll. “Doesn’t hurt too much. I’m just glad that I didn’t break both of them.” 

“I would have carried you back,” Aaron says, a smile sitting on his mouth. It comes out as a light comment but Daryl doesn’t doubt Aaron's sincerity for an instant. Eric murmurs something that Daryl can’t hear and presses a kiss to Aaron’s temple before he turns back, leaning more heavily on his cane. 

“Do you mind if we sit for a minute?” Eric says. “It feels okay for the moment, but I don’t really want to tempt fate.”

“So long as you don’t mind,” Aaron hurriedly adds, before Daryl can even react. “We don’t want to intrude.” 

“Nothin’ to intrude on,” Daryl mutters. “Go for it.” He pulls himself back up onto the railing and fishes one of his smokes out of his pocket. The end of it is broken off, but there’s still more than enough to light. Eric hops, one-legged, up the steps and he’s pretty damn nimble at it, if Daryl’s being honest. Him and Aaron both settle into the slightly ragged wicker chairs beside the front door. When Eric stretches his legs out, a quiet hiss slips between his teeth, but he immediately replaces his momentary grimace with a closed-mouth smile. 

“I’m good,” he says, long-fingered hands draping over the arms of the chair. While Aaron’s gaze seems to be directed across the street, where the fireflies are continuing to gather, his fingers find Eric’s without fumbling. It’s only then that Daryl realizes he’s still looking at them and he rips his eyes away, staring at the glowing ember of his cigarette. 

As the moments creep by, Aaron and Eric stay quiet, only occasionally murmuring something to each other. While they aren’t making much noise, their presence has still lessened some of the heavy tension sitting on Daryl’s shoulders. He doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t feel pulled tight as a wire, at least for the time being. 

“When I was younger, I was obsessed with fireflies,” Aaron says, just as Daryl’s second cigarette burns out. “I had this idea that if I caught enough of them, we could use them to light up the house. I had a mason jar full of them, shoved in the back of my closet, where I thought my mom wouldn't look. But she did and that ended my career in renewable energy.” The corner of Aaron’s mouth turns up as he finishes, but there’s definitely something else there, some other kind of emotion that Daryl can’t quite pick out. 

What he _can_ pick out is what Aaron’s voice sounds like. The cadence, the tone, the careful way he picks out each word, it reminds Daryl of someone born to tell stories. It makes him think of some of the old guys that Merle hung around in between prison stints. Most of them were just husks of men, with shaking hands and no prospects. Cut them open and you were liable to find nothing but alcohol fumes and some other toxic chemicals. But as soon as they got telling a story, their entire personality changed. They fell right into the role, like that was what they were truly meant to do with their lives. 

Maybe it’s that connection, or maybe it’s some other reason he can't quite grasp, but _something_ spurs Daryl to contribute to the conversation. 

“Never caught one before,” Daryl says, looking at the cloud of fireflies across the street. Most of them seem to be swarming around a large tree in front of the house but a few have drifted across the road, twinkling down by the sidewalk. 

“Really?” Eric asks. Daryl nods, flicking his burned out cigarette over the edge of the railing. 

“Yeah. My brother told me they’d burn me if I touched them. Didn’t figure out that he was lying till I was nearly done high school.” 

“Gotta love siblings,” Aaron sighs, half-smile still sitting on his face. When he twists his head to look at Eric, that half-smile goes to full-mast. “What about you? Did you try to turn them into light bulbs too?” 

“Not exactly,” Eric chuckles. When he smiles, his cheekbones press up against his skin. “The first time I went camping, my mom pointed one out to me, when we were looking up at the stars. I wanted to look at it closer but I kind of… crushed it, when I went to grab it. I haven’t touched one since.” 

Daryl can’t help but snort. It’s not exactly a funny story, but even now, what must be at least twenty years after the fact, Eric sounds so _disappointed_. After a moment, Aaron bursts out laughing as well, head tilted back against the chair, eyes closed. Eric full-on grins this time and even Daryl feels his mouth tug up a bit, completely of its own accord. 

“So _that’s_ why you’re so good at killing spiders,” Aaron says, once his laughing has trailed off. Eric rolls his eyes but his smile doesn’t budge, even when he glances down at his watch. 

“It’s getting late,” he says, grabbing his cane from beside the chair. “We should probably head home.” 

“You good to walk?” Daryl asks. 

“Should be fine. If it gets too bad, Aaron _did_ say he’d carry me. Unless he was kidding,” he adds, tapping the end of his cane against Aaron’s foot. 

“Completely serious. Scout’s honor,” Aaron says, getting to his feet and reaching for Eric’s hand. “Just don’t ask me to tie a knot. I never got that badge.” Once Aaron has helped Eric to his feet, Daryl expects them to go back down the stairs. But, aside from turning to face him, neither of them move. Daryl has to try very hard to stop himself from tearing his eyes away and looking back across the road. He doesn’t want them to feel like he’s been staring (although he has been, just a bit) but looking away when they’re actually talking to him seems rude. It’s not something he’d care about with anyone else but Aaron and Eric _aren't_ anyone else. 

“You know, we’re up pretty late most nights,” Eric says. The hand that isn’t gripping his cane is threaded through Aaron’s. “And we’ve got a pretty nice backyard. In case you ever get bored of this view.” 

“Feel free to stop by,” Aaron says. "Even if you just want to sit for a few minutes." It’s an invitation that makes Daryl momentarily cautious. But it doesn't look like there's any malice hiding behind their eyes. Besides, if either of them wanted to try and hurt him, they had plenty of opportunity on the drive up to Alexandria. So, after a few moments, he slowly nods, fingernails picking at a hole in the knee of his jeans. 

“Alright. Maybe some night,” he says, looking back across the road at the fireflies. 

He’s more than a little surprised at how much he actually means those words.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
